


Rosie's Father

by LiveAndLetLive



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Parentlock, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 18:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17882954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveAndLetLive/pseuds/LiveAndLetLive
Summary: They were not expectingthatto be Rosie's first word.





	Rosie's Father

"John, I'm concerned about Rosie." He muttered with a frown, sitting cross-legged in front of her. John hadn't expected this sudden statement. No one -apart from the occasional babble from Rosie- had said a word all morning. This was a regular occurrence: John would carry Rosie downstairs and place her on the floor next to Sherlock, who was always up before them, and would then proceed to make them all breakfast. What Sherlock had said was quite worrying.

"Oh. What's wrong with her?" he asked, temporarily freezing from taking baby food out of the fridge. He had had Sherlock disinfect the fridge before Rosie's arrival at the flat to remove any traces of cultured bacteria, blood or anything severed. Obviously.

"I was Rosie's age when I first began speaking though she hasn't yet said her first word." Sherlock replied, his eyes never leaving her face. She was too busy trying to coordinate her hands into grabbing one of Sherlock's curls, something she had always been fascinated by. John watched on in amusement: both Sherlock and Rosie shared the same curious look. Sometimes John forgot that they weren't related.

"We couldn't all be intellectual babies. What was your first word then? Murder? Bored?" John asked, smiling at the thought of Sherlock as a baby. He could probably read and write in Latin at the age of two- a far stretch but he had learned to overestimate when it came to Sherlock.

"Mycroft."

John's mouth fell open and his lips curled in a poorly hidden grin. He had to resist saying anything along the lines of "aw" if he wanted to keep from being shot at. "Mycroft? Wow. That's..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes then glared at him. "Oh, don't think too much of it." he said, "He manipulated me into saying it." Sherlock had an abnormally strong memory and could remember the day down to its last detail. Mycroft had sat Sherlock down and repeated the word until Sherlock had indulged him -something Mycroft could forever hold against him. He would use it at any chance he could get, the most recent one being "Let's not forget how much you love me, brother mine. What _was_ your first word again?"

John could hear the hatred in Sherlock's voice as he spat his brother's name out like a mouthful of sand. "Would it kill you to just admit that you love him?"

"Most likely." Sherlock replied, slightly distracted by Rosie's frown as she still couldn't quite seem to reach his hair. He took pity on her and tilted his head towards one of her hands. He didn't mind: she was always gentle. "Anyway, I can prove that he manipulated me."

"Knock yourself out." John said, not at all bothered about the outcome of this little predicament. He knew that Sherlock was probably right.

"Rosamund, can you say Sherlock?" He asked, speaking softly to her as her eyes lay wide and fixated on a curl. They momentarily flicked down to his eyes before returning to their far more interesting place on his head.

"Oh for crying out loud." John sighed: this was going to be fun. Rosie was a lot like Sherlock in lots of ways, something would have to be _really_ interesting for them to stop what they were initially doing and pay attention to something else. If Sherlock wanted to work cases instead of sleeping, he would. If Rosie wanted to play with his hair, good luck trying to stop her. They were stubborn and at stand-offs like this, John would just have to stand back. It was safer that way.

He could hear the determination in Sherlock's voice as he tried to coax her into saying his name. "Look at me, Rosie. _Sherlock_." He enunciated, getting more of Rosie's attention than before. This time she smiled up at him, flashing him the very little teeth she had. Rosie, like most babies, was very grumpy going through teething. Whenever she had trouble sleeping, Sherlock would play his violin or even read to her. Yes, they were books on the different stages of decaying in humans but it soon got her to sleep.

John too.

"Why don't you make her say 'John'? Why do you get to be the first word?" John teased, enjoying this little show between the two. He secretly loved the idea of 'Sherlock' being her first word. It was something that he could share with Rosie; it would make him feel more important to her (even though, in John's opinion, he was already placed quite high on Rosie's pedestal.)

"Quiet." He hissed at John before turning back to Rosie, putting a smile back on his face. "Come on, Rosie. Sherlock. Sherlock?" He repeated, sounding more and more ridiculous in his futile attempts to engage the infant. She was much smarter than Sherlock knew; she knew exactly what she was doing and remained silent as to amuse herself with his desperate pleas for her cooperation. This, he was pleased to say, was something Rosie had acquired from John.

"Want a cup of tea?" John interrupted, gleefully earning himself the famous 'Sherlock Glare'- the embodiment of the phrase 'I dare you to carry on'.

Rosie squeals with laughter and attempts to clap her hands. She could sense her father's playfulness and enjoyed Sherlock's retorts just as much as John did. She may not have understood them, but she loved to watch her boys tease one another.

Sherlock couldn't get enough of her laugh. He often memorized the sound to play in his mind palace for when he's away on a case and hasn't seen her for a while. When it's a particularly long case and Sherlock is away from the flat for days at a time, John would often call him on video chat so he could see her. "This is ridiculous, John." Sherlock would say, but John knew better.

"Yes, thank you. No sugar." Sherlock replied, distracting John from ruining this experiment, before focusing once again on Rosie. He had now taken her full interest and decided using her nickname would help him to achieve desired results. "Come on, sweetie, it's me. Who am I?" He asked, almost whispering. He saw her eyebrows crease for a moment as if she was carefully considering what he was asking of her. She stared at him for a while, Sherlock almost giving up, before she opened her mouth.

"Dadda."

Sherlock's head swooped up to connect his widened eyes with John's. Despite the lack of speech, they were conversing: John's eyes were proud and happy whereas Sherlock's were full of shock and fear. Neither of them expected the word to fall so clearly from her mouth, yet alone have it directed at Sherlock. Rosie's whimper brought them back as she tried to grab at Sherlock's sleeve. At this, John tipped his head towards her, gesturing for him to "go on, then."

Sherlock looks reluctantly down at her as if she had just magically appeared before him. After a few hesitant moments, he raised his arm and pat her head. Twice. He then looked up for approval, only to be met with a stern look from John. Looking back down at the child, who was still tugging on his sleeve for his attention, he carefully picked her up and placed her in his lap, wrapping his arms gently around her as she rested her head against his stomach.

Deciding he should let Sherlock have his moment with her, he continued to make the tea, tip-toeing around the kitchen as he did so. The only other time Sherlock had ever held Rosie was when she was ill, irritable and missing John (who was out at the time) and so he took it upon himself to comfort the child as best he could. Sherlock wasn't aware that John knew this little fact. He never would have either if it wasn't for Mrs Hudson who had happened to walk in on them together. "You should have seen it, John." She had said. "He was so gentle with her."

When he had finished making the tea, he brought it over to a mesmerized Sherlock.

"How about that then?" John smiled whilst placing the tea next to Sherlock and his half-awake daughter. "You are now officially part of the Watson family." Before Sherlock could protest, he was cut off by Rosie's yawn. He had no idea what to do about it and so, slightly panicking, carefully raised her to John. John had other ideas and so refused to take her from him. Instead, he carried his own tea over to his armchair and watched as Sherlock readjusted Rosie in his arms.

"And you're not... angry?" Sherlock frowned, a little confused. John was so frustrated; he couldn't get it into Sherlock's head that he was wanted in this family- by every member apparently. He couldn't remember a time when Sherlock hadn't been in his life.

"No, Sher- of course I'm not. We're raising her together. It doesn't matter if she calls you "Sherlock" or "Dad". That little girl loves you."

Sherlock didn't reply but rather stared off into the distance, the cogs in his mind whizzing as he absently rocked Rosie. John could see the dark circles under his eyes, a strain taking toll as he tried to catalog this experience and understand his own feelings towards it. Placing his tea back down again, John rose from his seat and shuffled over to the pair. He was startled to find that Sherlock didn't even notice his presence and so decided to announce himself by speaking to him. "Go and get some sleep: Rosie's going to want to play with you later."

Sherlock looked up at John and nodded, holding her out to him once more. John took her carefully as to not knock her from her sleepy state. She adjusted quickly, her hand grabbing at one of John's buttons as she pressed her nose into his chest. After Sherlock watched them for a moment, a small smile hanging from his lips, he got up and started his journey towards his bed. Just outside his bedroom door, he stopped and turned towards John.

"John?"

John looked up from Rosie and gave a small smile in acknowledgement.

"I think you should be made aware of how appreciative I am that you let me into her life." Sherlock said, looking a little out of place as he stood awkwardly before him.

John frowned. "No, I am. I am aware and I don't regret it." John decided not to say anything more: this was just something Sherlock had to figure out for himself. He would pin the man down and shout it until he was blue if that would do any good. But it wouldn't. 

"G'night, Sherlock."

"Goodnight."


End file.
